


His Suffocating Oppression

by Draycarla



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Branding, Choking, Collars, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Happy Birthday Shiro (Voltron), M/M, Object Penetration, Power Imbalance, Sexual Slavery, Sexual Violence, Strangulation, The Author Is An Awful Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:27:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22974757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draycarla/pseuds/Draycarla
Summary: Shiro doesn't take the news well that he's been given to some Commander or another, and like hell is he going to back down.Sendak has to tame this wonderful pet of his, and what better way to show him who is in charge then by simply abusing the one thing he is desperate for; oxygen. Champion will learn quickly who commands absolute power in this situation.
Relationships: Sendak/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 83





	His Suffocating Oppression

**Author's Note:**

> So.  
> This was a personal piece I wanted to write and IT IS KINDA REALLY SHITTY BUT IT WAS IN MY HEAD. So happy birthday, Shiro, and I'm sorry it's a day late, and that it's noncon.
> 
> Well. I'm kinda sorry.
> 
> Tagged for both choking and strangulation because there will be a slight distinction considering they are different things. Shiro's gonna have some pretty bruises at the end.
> 
> It's not as cruel as intended, but it's getting there. It's NOT a nice one either.

Until his imprisonment, Shiro thought little about the concept of time as nothing but a construct. In its absence to mark its passage, he had started to use aspects of the sick excuse for a life he lead as markers. Like a child who had no comprehension of days, but understood sleeps, he had to regress back to that. The time between sleeps consisted of: one or two meals, depending on how lucky he was, a stint in the arena, strapped to a table when he only got one meal, and pre-sleep visits from a guard or two. There was at least two regulars from what he gathered. Between all of this sat dead time. He smoothed the disgusting metal monstrosity over the wall, over all the lines he'd scratched in. So far, he had been in captivity with the Galra for a minimum of seventy-eight sleeps, and a maximum of more. He'd grown into a masochist, arguably, but for 'fun' he would try and add the time roughly to when he left Earth. If he was right, either it was his birthday _today_ , or it happened last week, _or_ will happen in the future if he survived. The problem with sleeps was that they weren't the most reliable – especially when he lost time.

While it was dead time, he might as well use it productively. With a pained grunt, he pushed himself up from the slab – the Galra's poor excuse for a bed – and took the meagre blanket. He'd had to earn back basic amenities through his fights. He shivered; partly from the cold, and partly from the reminder of what he had to do to earn a cell with an actual toilet and sink. The scar over his face would forever be a reminder to the bloodthirstiness he shown _that_ particular stint. Right now, he was trying to earn the right to hot showers; if he won in the arena in a sleep's time, he would _finally_ be able to be warm and feel cleaner. He settled on the floor, bringing all his focus into his breathing. Meditation. He needed to process, accept and let go this was what he needed to do to stay alive; to find Matt and Sam and escape this nightmare. Still. Shiro wondered how much he'd willingly sacrifice just for some comfort. Fighting was tiring, the killing was mentally taxing. He was tired of being angry and hyper-vigilant. To just...be taken from this, not have to think or do that...no. No, it wouldn't happen.

-

With a mechanical whir, Shiro groaned, cracking an eye open. Four sentries like those in the arena marched into his room, blasters primed and aimed at him. He raised his head and watched as a figure – Galra, of course – paced slowly to the threshold of the cell door. Shiro couldn't make out any of their features, except pale glowing eyes and rather limp-looking ears? Fur? He wasn't sure. Their armour was different too, but whether that was because of the greenish light, he couldn't tell.

“Bind the wrists and restrict his ankles. Do not give the Champion a sector, or he will take the quadrant.”

There was the hint of a snicker in his oily and arrogant tone. Shiro hurried to his feet, stance wider then it should be, as he looked between the four sentries. Two weapons trained on him from the top corners of his cell. Entrance blocked. He couldn't move backwards, that was into the oncoming sentries. _Shit_.

“You can fight if you really wish, but I wouldn't advise it.”

“Where're you taking me! What the hell is this?” Shiro brought himself in defensively, eyes trained on the Galra.

“I'm not here to use,” they motioned lazily at his body, “ _that_ like the guards do. I've been ordered to come here to collect and clean you up.”

“Clean me?” Shiro trailed off, pupils darting about. This wasn't, didn't feel right. If this was a possible birthday, this was the best present he could ask for, but no...no there was a catch here. “I can't go. I haven't earned it. Can't you just...not today. Please, not today.”

“I don't think you have either,” the Galra shrugged their shoulders, “but the decision has been made by our Emperor. It is happening whether you like it or not; a 'today' makes no difference.”

Knowing _Zarkon_ had something to do with this made him still. He'd met him once and felt the penalty of not addressing him properly. He tightened his prosthetic fist that was swiftly yanked behind his back. He heard the familiar click as they locked into place, yet still tried to pull his hands free.

“We do not have all quintant, Champion. Desist your pointless struggling. Sustenance and cleaning awaits.” There was a hint of annoyance laced in the voice.

“So what do I have to give up for this 'kind' treatment?” It was directly partly at himself as the sentries held him in place, finally locking in the shackle around his ankle. The Galra sighed louder than they needed to.

“There's nothing you can 'give up' that we simply will not just take irrespective of your needs or wants. Know if you continue to irk me, I will see your simple pleasures _revoked_.” They turned and walked away, despite Shiro's rage. With great anger, he was forced from his cell, the blanket trampled over without a care.

-

The Galran had dark purple-blue fur offset by a paler shade and high cheek bones. He was, if Shiro understood ranks right, at least a lieutenant. It felt wrong being ordered about by someone the same rank as him, and Shiro's patience was rapidly running out.

“Strip.”

“I don't take orders from _you_.” Shiro watched his eyebrow arch upwards, the most expressive his face had gotten so far.

“Then I will do it myself. I need to assess how filthy you are,” a gloved hand carded through the tangled hair, tearing strands and knots out roughly, “this needs to be cut right back. The patchy fur on your jaw too.” If Shiro had access to his hands, he'd slap the Galra away.

“Let me do it myself.”

“No. You lost that chance in your defiance.” The Galra grabbed him by the back of hair and forcibly walked him to the side of the huge bath. Bent over with little regard for Shiro's spine, his face was plunged under the surface. The fear set in as water flooded his system. He writhed and thrashed, knees striking the panel hard. When he was pulled up, the wet strands clung to his face. Shiro spluttered, coughed, and choked, spitting water back into bath beneath him.

“Consider that my only warning.”

Shiro nodded sharply, eyes staring at the water. He was aware of having his hands back, then the slow exposure to the humid air when claws cut through the thin material like scissors through tissue paper. He felt them trace and slice down the entire length of his body, unable to still the shakes when the claw tips tickled over patches of skin or the backs of his thighs. He braced the side of the bath, grip tightening, when his feet were finally released from their bonds. Walking here had been a nightmare and his muscles were burning. Gingerly, he rotated his ankles. The Galra turned him round roughly, moving back a few paces. With no pupils, it was hard to track where those eyes wandered, but he felt like a piece of meat. Shiro felt the sweat form on his lower back when those lips tugged into a crooked smirk.

“There is more fur then I realised.”

“It's hair.”

“Hair, fur, it is irrelevant. It requires neatening.” He moved back into Shiro's space, hands taking him under each arm.

“I-I'm not some...whore!” There was only one reason why this bastard was doing this, and Shiro wanted no part in it. The Galra merely clicked his tongue as he dumped Shiro in the bath. Water sloshed over the sides, but the Galra seemed unperturbed by it all as they moved to a collection of bottles on the shelves.

“Did you hear me?” He drew his legs up, clutching his shoulders tightly as he watched the Galra collect a few bottles.

“Perfectly.” He glanced back over at Shiro, before returning. “Providing you behave, this shouldn't hurt.”

“I can wash myself.”

“I've been ordered to scrub the filth from your body. The Commander does not wish to see you stained by others. I would rather be doing anything _but_ this, Champion, so let's make this quick, hmm?” He pushed Shiro's head back under the water, roughly ruffling his hair out. Shiro couldn't help but splash again, trying to find his wrists. Sure, the water was nice, but this was...this was humiliating and he had no idea what the hell was going on. Oh, he supposed he could drown, too. He gulped air back into his lungs, cursing whoever this commander was. Shiro was _not_ going to play ball. Not today.

-

After the Galra had attached the energy rope to the bottom of the bed and given Shiro a brief rundown of the do's and don'ts for the room, he left. It was sparsely decorated, with only a few pieces of furniture to speak of. A bed, a single chair, and something Shiro wasn't sure of. He cautiously moved towards it, desperately ignoring the metal biting around his ankle, eyeing bits that looked like a port of some form. It was cold, much like his body. He'd been marched here naked, jeered and leered at by guards and officers alike. Shiro was certain he recognised some voices, but it didn't matter. Whoever this 'Commander' that Galra spoke of was, the dread in Shiro's stomach was starting to fester. He brought his arms around himself, looking at the bed. It looked _comfortable_ and the blankets looked like furs. He dared to touch it, then again. The Galra had told him he wasn't allowed to lay in the bed, but he hadn't said Shiro couldn't take a blanket.

So he did. He took the smallest one he could find, before putting the furs back as they were. Even this was big enough to dwarf him. He carefully set it down on the ground furthest away from the door and hidden from sight, and nestled himself in with a shiver. He missed being warm, he missed a _lot_ of things, even his cell right now. Shiro smoothed a hand over his cheeks. The Galra had been far too intimate for his liking. Shiro hated how he'd just _held_ his face in a single hand, just watching as he tracked the razor slowly across his face. He somehow didn't cut or nick any part of his skin, even after he went lower. The entire time he'd had Shiro's naked form pressed against him, the fabric seemingly blocking his dampness. He shivered violently at how the gloved hand dipped between his legs, spreading his thighs out like this was somehow _normal_. All the while being forced to just remain in place. Shiro smoothed his fringe to the side, cut at least back to how it was before. His head felt lighter at least, and all the tangles and hair stuck by come had been removed. He closed his eyes, hoping that if he fell asleep, at least he wouldn't be awake when the Commander came in but whether _that_ was a good idea was debatable at best. If this was truly his birthday, it was the worst one of his fucking life.

-

His eyes snapped open when the door swished. Heavy footfalls came to a stop. It swished shut with a dull thud. There was a deafening silence, then a long, low rumble. Shiro swallowed, the panic setting in fast. His mouth went dry, his clammy palms felt worse. He...he couldn't stay here like this but what would it look like if he just stood up from behind the bed? What if he made himself smaller? But the lead – _shit_ – would bring the Commander here. He had to retain some dignity, do something and not show them he wasn't weak. He couldn't afford being considered anything lesser-

Metal clanked against metal one footfall at a time. Shiro clenched his teeth, trying to quell the shakes, as he watched claw-tipped boots pace towards his spot through the gap between the bed and the floor. Every second that depleted felt longer and longer until suddenly the feet changed direction. The breath that Shiro held in his chest released shakily through his teeth. Apprehension sunk in quickly as he watched the feet stop by the chair. For a few more seconds he heard claws tapping, a noise that sounded like something opening, a dull, metallic thud, and finally a creak. _What the fuck were they doing_?

_Snap_

Shiro jerked up. He clapped a hand around his mouth pointlessly as the other slapped against the metal floor. There was no uncertainty he'd just given away his position.

_Snap_

He should probably move. The quicker he did, the quicker this was over with, right? It wasn't like this was going to be the first time he'd been forced to sleep with a Galran, and at least this commander had the decency to want him fed and cleaned beforehand. Sure it was probably self-serving, but it was better treatment then being fucked from both ends-

_Snap_

Fuck. Another creak of armour. Angrier footsteps. Shiro scrambled to his haunches, the blanket pooled behind him. A shadow loomed overhead and he heard it. A deep, long and low snarl from the depths of the.... _very large Galra_ that towered above him. Not as big as Zarkon, but getting there.

“ _Who the fuck are you_?” It was reflexive, not meant as an insult, not meant to come with the air of a challenge. His stance probably didn't help, or when the instinct to defend himself came into play. Shiro launched himself up like his legs were a springboard, catching the closed fist in his prosthetic and latching on to the forearm. Shiro was lifted clear off the ground, legs scrambling against nothing but air. That was when he really took a look at the Commander. A cybernetic eye and another golden, huge fluffy ears and the biggest scowl like someone had taken a shit in his breakfast. That scowl was directed at him, and it only became more pronounced when huge metal claws pierced through his skin. The twitch of his lips was Shiro's only warning when a searing, hot pain shot through the five claws. It burned and seared and Shiro _screamed_. The scent of burnt flesh fresh in his nose as the Commander dropped him to the ground. Shiro shifted round through the pain, noting the fresh and raw burn between his ribs.

_Snap_

The Commander had seated himself again, and this time a small table with a single box sat on top of it was next to the chair. There was another low growl, expectant, and Shiro dragged himself over. His body hurt too much to stand right now, but he'd adjust. He always did. Before he came to a stop, the giant prosthetic moved in front of him. Shiro looked at it, then the Galra. The scowl still sat on his face. Shiro flicked his pupils back to the offered claws, his blood dried on them. He...wasn't exactly sure what was being implied here.

“W-What do-” He snapped his mouth shut at the growl, glaring as they flexed dangerously. With a hiss of his own, he took the middle claw in his hands, checking to see how much blood was there. Not a lot, just dried. With his nails, clean for the first time in a while, he started to scratch it away. The claw curled. _No? Then how am I- oh._ If he was understanding this in the slightest, did he want him to...

“My mouth?”

The claw unfurled. This was...this was insulting and disgusting. Shiro glowered at the metal in his hands, shifting to ease the sting against his raw flesh. He didn't want to be burned again. There was little choice.

Sendak watched Champion take the claw in his mouth with reticence. Haxus had reported some defiant behaviour, but at present he would not class it as such. Champion was reacting on impulse fuelled by fear or surprise. He would wait and see where the evening took them; to say he was curious about his new gift would be incorrect, Sendak wished to see fight and crippling fear in his eyes. His expectation of a stand-off upon entry had been scuppered, and this fearfulness prior to even knowing who or what Sendak was capable of stirred his ire. Others would say that the Champion yielding for him automatically was a true achievement, while others would accuse him of thanklessness towards the Emperor's good graces. Why would he want the encumbrance of breaking the Champion in when he was gifted Zarkon's favoured gladiator, one that fought anything and any one? His eye narrowed as the man took his final claw into his mouth. To his critics, he would simply ask where the warrior spirit had gone. There was no victory to be had in simple obedience, especially when he already commanded absolute authority after the Emperor and High Priestess. Sendak pulled his claw from Champion's mouth and let the prosthetic fall to his side. Champion slowly moved his head back to look up at him, brow creased and eyes narrowed. He was tense. Good. Sendak snapped his fingers again. Champion did not move, but his mouth did.

“Look, I didn't mean to start on the wrong foot, but clicking at me with no instruction is _not_ helping. I can't do what you want if you don't tell me.” His pupils narrowed further. “I'm not a dog.”

Perhaps this was what Haxus referred to. Sendak rested his cheek on the back of his hand, watching that frustration increase beneath the surface. It was amusing, if nothing but reckless posturing. There was no bite.

“There's no need to make this difficult,” Champion continued, trying to offer the bare minimum of a smile that stunk of desperation, “just tell me what you want and I'll do it, then you can send me back to my cell. You _must_ be reasonable, you wanted me clean and-”

Sendak had heard enough. He dug metal claws into the floor around Champion's torso, pushing himself from the chair.

“ **Silence.** ”

It was an order more than a request. Shiro ground his teeth together under the hold as the Galra leaned down. He was _trying_ to be reasonable, but what was the point? He wasn't going to be cowed by this giant furball, his growling, nor his one-word orders.

“Or _what_?! I've had no answers since your _creepy friend_ brought me here. What do you want? Why didn't you just fuck me in the cell like everyone else does, or are _you_ too prissy to get a bit filthy? Just fucking _get on with it!_ ” He arched an eyebrow, digging fingers into the floor to offset the cold dread that moved like ice through his veins. Judging from the harder press of the prosthetic and flare of the Commander's nostrils, the way his fur puffed up like an angry cat, Shiro _may_ have just signed his own death warrant. He bared his teeth, the Galra didn't seem to like that.

The screech of metal on metal was painful to Shiro's ears as the grip tightened and the claws of the gauntlet pressed deep into his skin. The adrenaline burned away the dread as pain lanced back through his body. The growl was strained, but he still offered the best glower he could level. The Commander was silent as he scowled down at Shiro like he was some animal. He didn't anticipate the claws retracting, or the Commander settling himself back down. An insidious grin seemed to stretch across his face as he took the box from the table and snapped his claws again. Shiro pushed himself up, staring between it and him.

“Whatever is in there, I don't want it.”

Sendak tossed the box into Champion's lap, watching as he cautiously picked it up.

“Still no idea what 'this' is.”

“Open it.” With his prosthetic, he tapped the wall and let the table return to whence it came. He watched the man open the box with hesitance. His eyes widened for a tick, then narrowed as his body shook. He brought the collar from the box, twisting it round in his hands.

“Due to my services to the Empire,” Sendak drawled, “effective immediately you have been given to me-” the collar ricochetted off his chest armour and clattered over the floor, the thrum of it spinning in a circle until it settled the only noise between them. Champion's expression was that of when he was in the arena; of fire and fury. He had never faced Sendak in combat, and after this insolent action, he would wish he never did.

With a thunderous battle cry, Champion launched at him, prosthetic drawn back ready to strike. With a snarl of his own, partial frustration and excitement, Sendak caught him by the throat. Spittle and a choked noise escaped his lips as Champion coughed, and as Sendak's grip tightened, it became sharp wheezes. His hands scrabbled at his flesh wrist, then the hand itself, but the nails did nothing to stay his hold. It was the eyes that held his attention; so full of fury and anger but wide in fear, then terror as it dawned on him that it was Sendak who controlled his breathing. He had entertained himself long enough, but such glaring disrespect would no longer be tolerated.

“Do you have any comprehension of your position?” Sendak's lips twisted upwards as he rose from the chair, hoisting Champion higher into the air. “In what reality do you think this level of behaviour would go unchecked?” He tightened his hand again, Champion's pained wheezes becoming nothing but desperate gasps for air. Sendak let his head fall to the side, baring his own teeth. “Where is your gratitude? Why do you think you have a chance in defying me, yet allow your visitors to have their way with your body. Unless,” Sendak slammed Champion against the wall, dragging him down to eye level, “you enjoy such treatment. If that is the case, then I can promise you, Champion, I will use your body until my needs are sated. Would you like that?” He came in close to listen to the ragged rasps, finally loosening his grip. Sendak dropped Champion to the floor again as he took a step backwards, flexing the prosthetic claws.

Shiro hacked and coughed, falling to his hands. He brought one up around his throat, so painful and sore, but not like the rest of his body. He could feel the blood trickle from the new wounds, feel the sharp ache along his spine.

“Present yourself.”

Shiro snapped his head up too quickly. He couldn't allow himself to get too damaged or too wound up by this guy. With a deep breath, he shifted around, raising his hips into the air. Shiro felt the boot spread his legs wider apart. The Commander pressed a metal claw against the meat of his ass cheek and Shiro screeched in agony as the white-hot pain shot through him. He failed to restrain his sobs or his body from shaking, or the cold sweat breaking out. When metal traced between his cheeks, pressing at his entrance, Shiro broke.

“P-Please. Don't, don't-”

“If I burned it,” the Commander languidly traced upwards, pressing at the hole, “you would certainly learn to behave if I fucked it back open, would you not?”

“That's...that's...” Shiro just stopped talking. He swallowed the bile in his throat down as far as he could. He could feel the tears tracking down his cheeks at the sheer pain.

“What do you require of me, sir?”

The Commander merely pointed at the collar, and settled back down in his seat. His gaze revealed nothing, as if the seconds before had never happened.

Sendak watched Champion move on all fours with contentment as he picked up the collar in his teeth. His smirk broadened as he crawled back over, eye flicking over each raw patch of skin. It seemed Champion was realising this was not the best way to move, but he soldiered on, unyielding, as expected by the slave who so stupidly, yet boldly, attempted to harm his Emperor. It had amused Zarkon in the same way Lotor had as a child, attempting to cause harm but ultimately just futile strikes. A chill of satisfaction shot along his spine when Champion came to settle at his heel; eyes full of restrained hatred, but with care and some poise, he dropped the collar into his lap before settling back on his haunches. Sendak placed the collar on the arm of the seat as he brought his boot to rest upon Champion's burned shoulder.

“You are my property. As such, you will obey and execute all orders issued. Your purpose is to service me. Disobedience will be met with punishment. In return, you are my responsibility.” Sendak pushed the boot down harder against the shoulder, much to Champion's pained displeasure. “These rules are non-negotiable. Do you understand?” He watched in silence, revelling in glee as Champion's expressions changed so rapidly. He offered a single nod of his head.

“That is not an answer.”

A glower, that as quickly as it formed, dissipated away.

“Yes. _Sir_.” Champion bit after a few ticks.

“Here.” Sendak spread his legs apart. “You know what to do.”

Everything hurt to move; he either stung or ached, and the scent of his own flesh clung to the back of his throat to the point he could taste it every time he tried to swallow the bile back. Sweaty palms stuck to the metal floor. He brushed the back of his hand over his eyes as he settled between the Commander's legs, staring at the outline of the bulge trapped beneath.

“I do not have all quintant. Stop staring and get on with it.” The sharpness cut through him like the frigid air. Hands scrabbled at the material. He couldn't invoke any more of his wrath – his body wouldn't be able to take much more. One of the catches wouldn't open as Shiro fumbled with it. Beads of sweat ran the length of his face, dripping down his chest. He wet his dry lips. This was going to hurt, there wasn't enough spit left, he swore. When he finally wrangled the final catch off, Shiro screwed his eyes shut and pushed his prosthetic hand into the material, he cracked an eye open at the royal purple cock. Tapered at the end, curved in at a few places, and ridged. These things reached places Shiro didn't like to think about for a few reasons, but this was...monstrous compared to the guards. Claws carded through his fringe before snapping it up hard. Wide-eyed and whimpering, the Commander gave it a sharp tug. Shiro yelped, and with that, the Commander shoved him down straight over the tip. He didn't stop even when Shiro struggled, or when he coughed around the middle of the shaft. His lungs burned from the ache, he was going to choke to death on this vile tasting and smelling _thing._ If this was the Commander being 'responsible', he didn't want to know what he was like being irresponsible.

Sendak watched Champion's eyes stream first. When he felt it necessary to allow him to breathe, he allowed it. Every time he pulled Champion off, there was more tears and spittle shining from the corners of his mouth as he greedily sucked in air. Sendak tilted his head from side to side, ears stiff as he listened to all the restrained retches.

“Does this make you feel sick?”

Champion blinked stupidly at him.

“Yes.” It was a hoarse whisper almost lost to his heavy panting, but Sendak detected it nonetheless.

“ _Good_.” With no warning, Sendak pushed him back down. Champion struggled with a sob, but with a quick swing of his own prosthetic, Sendak brought the activated claws into the delicate mounds of flesh. He muffled the screech with his cock, pulling the claws away to admire the new red brands. The scent of the seared skin excited his nostrils; it permeated the air around them by this point, and stirred the arousal within his loins. His grip tightened on Champion's hair, pushing him further down his length with every buck of his hips. Sendak would admit that Champion's mouth being so small made the heat and tightness all the better. He enjoyed seeing the thick trails of saliva snap, how Champion's face became messier every time he looked at him. He pressed his face flush against his groin, Champion's hands pushing against his thighs. The man was struggling to breathe again. Sendak pushed him off, watching him just about catch himself. He required more work to pleasure him properly. They had time.

How the Commander hadn't punctured his throat he didn't know, but he prayed he wouldn't have to speak for the rest of the night. Shiro swiped at his face; his mouth, nose, and eyes streamed as he once again swallowed back the air. He felt filthy, yet at least he could _breathe_. Every second he struggled felt like hours, it was agony. He was aware of the Commander moving, more noises, then silence. Shiro yelped, trying to find purchase on the floor as he was dragged across the surface. _The lead_. Hoisted up by the ankle, he found himself at eye-level with the Commander's dick, slick with his own spittle. There was release around his ankle, and he watched the shackle and energy lead fall to the floor with a clatter. Unsure what to do, he brushed his fingers against the head. A sharp growl had him draw them back. Like he was a ragdoll, the Commander tossed him to the bed. Wide and large as it was, Shiro still bounced. He _just_ about kept himself on the bed, panting heavily as he looked at the wall behind. Hitting _that_ would hurt more and he...he just wanted this over already. Shiro glanced up, trying to keep the sigh of relief down as he watched the huge gauntlet of a hand planted into the port. He watched the light shine a bit brighter, before glancing at the furred blanket he he'd been hiding under earlier.

When Sendak was finally ready to return to Champion, he found the man carefully smoothing out the fur he'd been curled up in. He flinched, folding under Sendak's gaze with a shudder. Sendak pointed to the space in front of him and Champion moved with small whimpers. He brought his claws under Champion's throat, tilting his head, then body up.

“Remove the remainder of my armour. If you do so quick enough, I will allow you liquid. Do not waste it down your face.” He traced his claws up, brushing the pad of his finger across Champion's bottom lip. With a shudder, the man set to work, pushing himself to his feet with some issue, breathing certainly strained. His fingers worked quicker and with more precision. Champion was concentrating; learning. Just like he should if he wanted Sendak to stay invested in keeping him. If he was no good, then it was a variety of holes for the crew to fuck. He allowed Champion to ease his arm from the body suit, how he paused for a split-tick at the stump of his other arm, before pulling the fabric away. Only when it got just halfway over his hips did Sendak bat him back.

“You have earned liquid. Sit. Eyes closed.”

There were more noises until the mattress depressed behind him. He flinched at the cool, smooth metal that traced his skin. The whimper that escaped Shiro's lips was shameful, cut only by the hand that grabbed around his throat. He was sacred at the unreadable pair of eyes above him, but maybe stupidly let the Commander push fingers past his trembling lips. Logically he knew he should fight, but fear was powerful. Stronger still when the guy could snap his neck like a twig. He caught something from the corner of his eye, feeling them widen when he saw the bottle. The Commander withdrew his fingers, compressing the cold glass against his lip. It was clear. He desperately needed water. The glass clinked against his teeth, perhaps to the Commander's amusement, he didn't know.

“Beg.”

Shiro swallowed, licking his dry lips.

“Please, sir, _master_. _Please_ , let me have a sip. A-After,” Shiro swallowed at the words he had to speak, “using what's... _yours_ ,” he couldn't help the way his whole body shook when he felt the fur against his back for the first time, the cock already moving its way between his ass cheeks, “please let me drink just a little so my mouth's a bit better for you to fuck later...at your pleasure.”

It was the first rumble he'd heard that didn't sound angry, but he wouldn't say the Commander was happy either.

“I-I'll do what you ask, k-know not to push back-” it was only for a few seconds, but long enough for Shiro to _know._ The grip around his neck relaxed, more so when he rubbed himself against the Commander's cock. He hissed as the claws traced up, one of the burns was caught.

“Open your mouth.”

Shiro did, watching the bottle over the face shift, ignoring the strange eyes that unsettled him to his core. The glass clinked against his teeth, and with a press against the Commander to show his gratitude, so much as he hated doing it, the bottle was tilted. He jerked at the sharpness and burn against his throat. _It tasted like vodka_. He desperately swallowed back what he could; what he couldn't ran over his cheeks, chin, across his chest. The hand tightened, but he jerked at the sting, as he felt he was going to drown because the Commander _wouldn't stop_. The bottle raised higher. He writhed and bucked and struggled, unable to move his head away. He could barely make words to beg him to _stop_.

The struggle had been a delight. He let Champion fall into the sheets, coughing and spluttering for air. Sendak downed the remnants of the bottle, watching Champion curl in on himself.

“Your fear is arousing, did you know that?”

Champion turned tear-stricken eyes to him, mouth open as if it required filling again, then wider when Sendak hoisted his leg into the air and pressed the lip of the bottle against his unprepared entrance. If it hurt, it hurt. Champion stammered out pleas to stop, but Sendak was simply curious. Champion was in a state of half-arousal, judging by the way blood pooled in the tip of the human's oddly smooth-looking dick. Some...whimper or moan, he couldn't tell at this point, escaped Champion's lips as he pressed the tip in and just pushed. He twisted it this way and that, ears pricking at every whine, pained gasp, grunt, and sob. Sendak tugged his smaller body closer, using a little more force. Champion's toes curled, fingers too into the furs. He kept trying to cover himself, hide his shame, but Sendak would not have that. He had to earn that right, and by then he would have no shame or dignity left to speak of.

“Your skin reddens here,” Sendak traced his cock, and slowly up over the burns and scars until he reached Champion's cheeks, “do you enjoy your sodomy?”

The response was a half-primal screech. Champion _attempted_ to move his body away, but even he knew the futility in the act.

A single back-hand snapped his head to the other side of the sheets. Shiro's eyes caught the flash of metal, but it didn't seem to register. Smaller prosthetic or not, it _hurt_.

“Answer.” The command held a hard edge, the bottle pushing deeper. Shiro was trying, and failing, to ignore the intrusion.

“Yes.” He lied. If he pretended to like it, maybe that would make him stop.

“Liar.” Another back-hand so hard he couldn't be bothered to scrub the tears away any more. He could taste blood; could only guess how the bruises would look after this all was over. The entire neck of the bottle was shoved down regardless of the resistance until he felt the cold glass against his skin. It didn't alarm him as much as it should do that if it broke, he'd probably die. Right now that felt like the preferred option.

“S-Stop. _Please._ ” His voice sounded thicker, mouth aching, everything just _aching_.

“No.” The movement at least stopped, but the Commander did drop his leg to move from the bed. Shiro just laid there, body like lead, half-watching him collect something or other.

Sendak pulled Champion over the sheets towards him, tugging the bottle back out. Champion writhed and wiggled in his hold, grimacing with a hiss upon full extraction.

“Actions have consequences. This is yours.” Sendak dragged him by the hair against his thigh, twisting his fingers into the white strands. He dangled the blindfold in front of him, those pupils wide and flicking between it and back.

“You probably desire to fight this.” Sendak mused, forcing him down and moving Champion's face about as he tied the blindfold tight. “However,” he forced Champion back up, flicking his tongue across the wet lines over his face, “if you do feel the urge, recall the others of your kind.” He swiped the trickle of blood away from his lips with a finger, smearing it over his thumb. “I wonder if their blood is as red as yours?” With that, he pushed Champion backwards and hoisted his leg up again, positioning himself back over his thigh.

Shiro would behave if anything were to happen to Matt or Sam thanks to him, but any further thoughts were gone when the Commander pushed himself in against the resistance. It hurt, but not until the wider ridges hit his sore and aching rim. The scream he let out was muffled by flesh fingers that pushed inside, and reflexively Shiro bit them as hard as he could. Everything was so much more sensitive; he had no bearings, and even if he did, the Commander was sharply just trying to fuck his way in anyway. Further cries to stop were muffled as fingers pushed their way further into his mouth, he could feel the tearing, and then the trickling heat.

“Struggling more will damage yourself. Patience.”

Patience? _Patience_? He blindly swung outwards, locking his jaw down so hard he tasted a hint of blood. The fingers retracted sharpish, and Shiro couldn't care less about the low growl. He spat out over the sheets, likely against his better judgement.

“Have you _fucking heard of lube? Have you ever fucking fucked anyone in your life? How dense are you?_ ” He swung pathetically again, unsure what he was doing himself. “I'm tense because you're hurting me! What use will my fucking asshole be to you if you tear it to shreds, huh?”

“You have a mouth.”

“Is this a joke? Am I some _fucking_ joke to you?”

“Yes.” The Commander pulled out but Shiro _knew_. He was flipped, face first into the bed. The mattress creaked under the Commander's weight, and the tapered head pushed its way back in, metal hand clamped around the back of his neck.

He never expected a reprieve and the Commander gave none. He could feel the blood trickle down between his thighs, feel the bastard thing slip a little further in each time. He'd been purposefully ignoring what hung between his own legs, despised how it had...how _he had_. This was as far from sexy as any situation should be and yet...and yet and yet _it did that_. The metal kept squeezing, choking, for short bursts of time. Enough for him to jerk and enough for the Commander to strike deeper and more brutal with every thrust. He loathed himself for every ounce of unwanted pleasure from the act, only grateful that the moans were concealed within the choked gasps and whimpers.

With a yelp, Shiro was hoisted up and back. Metal slapped against his lips to muffle the screech again as he slipped down the worst of the length, shaking at each ridge that broached the searing rim second by second. It served as a distraction until he realised there was something tight around his cock, then _it_ , a claw, teasing the tip of ever-so-carefully. All Shiro could do was sob and whimper like the pathetic mess the Commander had made him.

“You do not come until I allow it. This,” he lazily teased, “looks ready to soon.” He rolled his hips once. “It pleases me you find the treatment arousing. It seems I have a masochist.”

As best he could, Shiro shook his head from side-to-side.

“No? Your body says otherwise. It is fine,” the purr against his ear chilled him to the core, “you will come to be honest in due course.” Hands and his body was repositioned, and once again Shiro found himself used as the Commander's cock sleeve. He made little noise, which always had Shiro on edge under normal circumstances, but he _did_ feel teeth and claws drag their way over the marked skin, the rough tongue like sandpaper swipe the surface.

“You will wear the collar.” Sendak rumbled in Champion's ear, brushing teeth against the pale column of skin. A meek whimper was his reply, but with how flushed the man was, it would suffice for now. With a low grunt, he set to sating his own needs. Champion's insides twitched and held him tight like a vice. The tightness bordered on almost painful, but it was a small price to pay knowing how Champion's body enjoyed this more then he would wilfully admit. Pressing teeth against the scarred skin, he snapped his hips upwards, one hand planted firmly on Champion's hip to keep him from struggling away as he drove upwards at a punishing speed. The sweet taste of that metallic blood drove him onwards, pace erratic, need and lust to fill what was his all the drive he needed.

“N-Not inside!” Shiro rasped, body trembling every time the raw patches were caught, every time the teeth broke the skin. The Commander's pace was awful, those ridges tearing him up, yet unfairly stimulating. He shouldn't like this, he couldn't. _Switch off, switch off._ He couldn't do it. His own cock hurt with it's own built up pressures and the lack of stimulation. He'd never came from just his prostate struck, but he felt like he could now of all days. It was shameful. The erratic thrusts became more so, the grip around his neck tightening past regular choking into something harder, when with a snarl, a sharp press and lock-down, teeth broke deeper past the surface and straight into the muscle. A strangled scream mingled with useless scrabbling didn't offset the way his body felt flooded with something hot, and he was left a twitching, spit-soaked, partially sticky mess _wishing_ to pass out.

Sendak pushed him from his lap to the sheets, studying the way Champion's body quaked. He reached a hand out, lips twitching at how violently he jerked away with some small choked noise. The blindfold had remained on, and he made no movement to remove it. Good. Ignoring the pale body littered with its wounds and burns, he moved back towards the collar. It was a fine item; custom with a single purple band of light around the middle, and only coded so he could remove it. He moved back to the bed, roughly removing the blindfold and dangling the collar in front of Champion's eyes.

Under a bleary gaze, Shiro ignored the hot wetness between his thighs as best he could. He raised a shaking hand; maybe it was just easier to accept it, maybe the Commander wouldn't be so rough if he did? Fingers brushed the metal, a static charge coursing through his skin.

“What do you say?”

Like he knew what to say. He hooked a finger around it, pushing it away. He...didn't want this. It was quick and suffocating – worse, if possible. The purple shadow that was the Commander was over him; weight pressing down over his chest, claws around his neck. Panic. Hands that couldn't grip tried to pry the fingers away but found no purchase. The Commander shook him, Shiro struggled to take a single breath that didn't hurt or feel restricted. It was like the hand was about to crush his windpipe; completely break his neck. His vision darkened, a ringing in his ears.

Then it stopped to become nothing but a sharp, high-pitched sound. The hand withdrew and Shiro gulped back the air with the desperation of a drowning man.

“I control the course of your life, _worm_. You do not get to dictate anything. For this,” the breath was hot against his face, “all arena privileges will be rescinded until you know your place.”

With a cold snap, something new constricted his throat. Tight but not too tight. Dragged from the bed by his ankle and carried upside down, he just hung there, swaying. Shiro watched through the blurry haze as the wall moved up by itself to reveal some space. Dropped to the ground in a pile, the claws snapped.

“In.”

Shiro ached so much he couldn't move, even when the foot collided with his painful rear.

“ _ **In**_ **.** ”

How he dragged himself inside he...didn't know. There was something semi-soft on the floor. He flopped down, pupils flicking to the ceiling that...was much closer then it should be. He blinked, then blinked again. _This was a cage_. He didn't even have the room to crouch, only lay down. He watched the feet pad across the floor, unable to see anything about knee-height.

After redressing, he was about to leave when Champion's quiet voice caught his attention.

“Who're you?”

“The Emperor's right-hand.”

“No,” there was a sharp cough, “ _who_ are you?”

“Sendak. You will refer to me as sir, master, or Commander. Not my name.” He was about to leave when Champion spoke once again.

“My name's Shiro.”

Sendak marched back over to the cage, peering down at the man now near the bars.

“Your name is irrelevant. You are a pet. If you actually _please me_ enough, I may give you a name of my own choosing. Do not think pleasantries will save you; you are mine,” he gripped the bars on the cage, leaning closer, “and if you cannot get that through your skull, I am sure the others on board this vessel will help you understand if I ever give you to them. I will return in two vargas. I expect you rested and ready upon my return.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed, or just rolled with it.
> 
> Back to mymm now! This month just has been busy, and works gonna be picking up again soon for me because a lad quit. Will try get chapter 62 done ASAP.
> 
> But ahhh, see you soon my lovely readers!


End file.
